


Just wishing you were good (to me)

by Vicfiirstz



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Time period, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, But only later, Fluff, Gay!Connor, Human!Connor, I don't even know why I put that tag, M/M, as if that was not a given, don't really know what time though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicfiirstz/pseuds/Vicfiirstz
Summary: Detective Hank Anderson is faced with a terrible murder scene. The only thing left are the bodies and a handsome man with a rope around his neck. He is the only suspect, and he probably tried to commit suicide after, but failed to do so when the rope snapped. The detective must get a confession out of him, but he appears to have lost his memory!- or -Hanky Panky has a confused Connor locked in his jail cell for having killed a family of three.





	1. Confusion doesn't suit you

**Author's Note:**

> This fic may be a trigger for some people, since it contains violence, death, and gory descriptions. The first won’t be the only chapter with such content, so be warned.
> 
> This is my first ever fanfiction, please be kind (or not, it's up to you). I'm sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language. Sorry for the editing, as well. I don't really know how to make the text look pretty. No more excuses, this is just going to be bad, poorly written and probably boring. But, oh well, I want to write a little about my boys. Also, I have absolutely no freaking idea how a police station or police stuff in general work.
> 
> The first chapter is kinda short, the others might be as well, because I have the attention span of a puppy (I'm just not as cute).
> 
> Please, if anyone read this, give me feedback, help me improve. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, just keep it respectful - I'm a very sensitive jello, I'm shaken by the slightest touch.

His head was pounding. Goddamit, this was going to be another case filled with gruesome details, wasn't it? He knew just from the summary the captain had given him. "Three bodies, mutilated, blood everywhere". Yep. Not a great morning starter. But he was on his way to the murder scene, because that was his job: to deal with shit deranged people brought upon the folks of Detroit.  


As he drove to the sound of Rammstein (one of his favourite bands from his youth), he tried not to think about the dead family too much. A mother, a father and a little boy, only 6 years old. As old as... No, no use dwelling on that right now. Later, maybe, when he had whiskey, a gun and a game to play. Right now was the time to enjoy Feuer Frei blasting in his radio and to do his fucking job, no matter how much it sucked.  
As he neared the scene, he could see the police lines and his fellow officers. Most of whom he didn't even know the name.  
Stopping the car, he wished he could have a few more minutes, just to finish listening to Du hast. That song was going to be stuck in his head the whole day, as always.  
He got out and went inside the house.  


He had worked in homicides for years, but he never really got used to seeing such atrocities. As promised, there was blood everywhere. And the smell was fucking awful, made his stomach turn. Guts were hanging from the chairs in the kitchen, but the family was spread out on the carpet in the living room. All three without heads. The parents' were on the trash, but the son's was inside the microwave, having been blown to bits. Blood was already enough of a disturbing odour, combined with burnt flesh it was almost unbearable.  
The weapons used were scattered everywhere: knife, hammer and a fucking pair of scissors all had blood over them. Whoever this guy was, the bastard didn't want a clean kill, he wanted to make them suffer. The parents' bodies were tied, with their mouths obstructed, and the forensics team had concluded the boy was murdered first, with the parents being forced to watch and not be able to do a damn thing. That fucking headache was getting worse. Disgust was mixed with empathy and suffering inside Hank's head.  


When he got upstairs, inside the kid's room, right in the middle of it was an unconsious guy, with a rope around his neck and blood covering his clothes and hands. Well, isn't that convenient. The only living person in the house had "suspect" written all over him and had failed to put an end to it. He was the only suspect, because there were no cameras in the neighboorhood, nobody had seen people coming in or out of the house, given the late hour in which the deed had happened, and the family was a common one, not known to have had enemies. Perhaps only the next door lady, who was always envious of their roses, but, in her own words, "didn't think they deserve to die just because they had a pristine garden". Weird, but she was an old lady, who could barely get out of bed. So, not a possible suspect.  
Hank got closer to the man. Upon closer inspection, he appeared to be in his early twenties, with a face not meant to be in the middle of such chaos, but rather at the choir of a church. He didn't die, but spent enough time hanging that he was now completely out of it. He was going to be taken to the station, put on a cell and later interrogated.  
For the time being, there wasn't much for Hank to do, and he wanted to get away from this shitty mess as soon as possible, so he let the team currently working continue to do their job as he got inside his car again.

 

Back at the station, he already had a lot of paperwork to fill, and that was almost as bad as having to see mutilated bodies. After half an hour, though, he was told that the suspect had awakened, and was already at the interrogation room. He was apparently very confused, and had no idea why he was in a jail. "Well", Hank bitterly thought, " what would be the fun if he just confessed, right?".

In the interrogation room, the guy had a confused puppy look, and was very agitated, but he wasn't aggressive, and hadn't yet attacked any officer. As Hank entered the room, he looked up with tears in his eyes, and Hank almost felt sorry for him, but quickly reminded himself that this was probably the one who coldheartedly slayed an innocent family. As the boy - that was what he was, basically - opened his mouth to say something, probably plead his innocence, the detective held a hand up and started his questions.

"What's yer name?". Well, he had to start somewhere.  
"I don't know".  
"Whatcha mean, ye fucking don't know? This was supposed to be the easy part of the interrogation, boy. Answer me!".  
"I'm not lying, I really don't know! I-I can't remember!". He almost screamed, and that startled Hank a little bit.  
"Fuck it. Forget about the name, then. What were you doing in that house?".  
"I don't remember".  
"Why were you in that damn room?".  
"I don't remember".  
"You don't fucking remember anything? Are ye fucking with me right now?! You better start giving some answers, if you don't want to be instantly convicted of fucking murder!" Hank was getting really pissed with this damn boy.  
In a tiny voice, he said "I'm really sorry... I don't remember anything, other than waking up here in this police station". Tears were now flowing freely down his cheeks.

"Fuck", Hank thought, "he is either playing a stupid game, trying to trick me, or he really doesn't fucking remember shit. Don't know which is worse."  
"Well, if yer not gonna cooperate, then you can go back to the cell. We'll talk to you again later, when yer feeling more talkative, bastard." Two other officers then came in and took the guy back to his cell. As he was getting out of the room, he shot Hank a look that almost screamed "I'm lost, help me!". Hank was a little confused, as well.

He went to the coffee room, and, shit, that asshole Reed was there, putting too much sugar in his coffee as always.  
"Hey, Hank, seen the pretty boy? He ain't talking yet, but I plan on getting a confession out of him, one way or another. Meanwhile, you can go back to your alcohol, and stop stinking up the precint.", he said with a cocky smile. To that, Hank only raised a middle finger. He had no energy left to do their usual back-and-forth. 

 

After getting his caffeine, he was left to think: what the fuck to do with the - most certainly not handsome - guy that might have killed a family and might have amnesia?


	2. A past that haunts the fragile present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank goes through some police files, and remembers things that would be best forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter: short and sweet? But bitter as hell. The fluff is much more appreciated after a long ride of suffering, methinks.

Back at his home, Hank tried to think about the best way to approach the inevitable interrogation tomorrow. He had to get a confession out of the guy, there was no other way, he was convinced that he was the culprit. He had to be. Everything seemed to make perfect sense. Well, except for the fact that he had tortured and slaughtered an entire family. This would never make sense, and would never be justifiable.

Having access to the police information in the comfort of his own house, he started to search for similar cases. Maybe they could help shine a light on the darkness of his confusion.

There were many, since there were always, and would always be, lots of bad people to go around. Homicides were countless, but few were as gruesome as this. There was a recent one, of a man named Todd Williams, who had apparently murdered his ex-wife and daughter, as well as her stepfather, simply because he had used too much red ice and was feeling jealous again. The new husband was a giant, strong, but even he could not survive the impact of a shotgun. Todd then proceeded to beat the women to their death, leaving them disfigured and a puddle of blood and guts, basically. His mistake was that he decided he needed even more red ice, and had to go through the streets to get it. Many people saw the scarlet covered clothes and immediately contacted the police. He was easily taken and quickly confessed, seemingly conflicted and feeling guilty as hell. His current residence was the prison, and that would be the case for at least 40 more years. This case served only to prove the motives could be as dumb as the people who committed the crimes themselves.

Hank got up to grab a bottle of whatever cheap whiskey he had in his kitchen to help with his nerves. They were getting to him, and if he wanted to keep scrolling through the numerous terrifying cases, he would need the numbing effect of the alcohol that burned down his throat.

Another case had a little more history to it, having started 14 years ago. Zlatko Andronikov, a man whose face and name - but not much more - were known, had already killed dozens of victims, never being caught. This guy was smart. He always found a way to elude the police, never leaving any traces of his existence except for the growing file of murders. He had a characteristic way of doing things, always cutting limbs or parts of people but keeping them alive while he did several experiments. He seemed to be interested in the capabilities of the human body and in how to improve them. From the deformed and atrocious “creatures” he left behind, it was safe to assume that he had yet to achieve any success. The victims always failed to survive in the end, and he no longer had any use for them, except for a few selected parts: a strong arm, a particularly dashing pair of eyes, fingers capable of movements beyond the usual. He could have been the author of the current case, but that wouldn’t align with his known behavior, since there were no missing body parts, and the torture inflicted appeared to serve no other purpose than to cause extreme pain, both physical and mental. Had he been experimenting with the psychological capabilities of the victims? Unlikely, given his previous actions, but that couldn’t yet be ruled out. This was a sick, albeit intelligent and dangerous, man, and they had to be careful if he was involved.

Another somewhat recent one: a man was found dead in a sex club, his face mashed with a lamp. The one who had been with him was one of the clubs most famous girls. There was blood and signs of struggle in the room, the blood belonging to the both of them. She had fled the scene before anyone noticed anything was wrong, and was yet to be captured. She must have had some friend that covered for her and helped her escape the police. Seeing as there was obviously violence by the hands of the client involved, the motive was predictable. She tried to defend herself, but that quickly turned to anger, maybe of being fed up of being used by filthy men who would do as they pleased. This seemed to be the similar to hatred present in the current case, but what would be the motive? Had the father been involved in sexual activities outside of his marriage? Hank would have to do some digging to figure that out, and ask if the neighbors had seen the woman around the house, as well.

His senses were starting to get clouded, since the bottle hadn’t left his side, and was almost finished. Fuck, he shouldn’t have drank that much. But he wanted to, the case having brought up feelings of his past that were very much still alive inside him. He was remembering his dead son, Cole, and the way the accident had happened. There was nothing he could have done, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel guilty and shitty every damn day.

The next file was the last strand. Two years ago, a pre-school teacher had murdered several of her students during a crazy fit, and that was all Hank needed to read to be reminded of how fucking awful the world actually is, and how unfair most of things are. His son had been brutally taken from him, and he was left behind, always being reminded that his whole existence had no more meaning, and life was shit, and how he had failed oh!, so many times to end his suffering.

His hand reached for the gun he always kept hidden in a drawer on the kitchen, for when he was feeling worse than usual and wanted to play a risky round of Russian roulette. He heard his Saint Bernard, Sumo, snoring from somewhere in the house. The dog was never much of a guard, especially when the aggressor was Hank himself, although he would always lick his face and help him wake up in the aftermath.

Gun in hand, eyes closed, he shot. Missed. Again.

And again he shot. Sumo bumped on his arm just a few seconds before the bullet left the gun. It missed Hank for just a few inches, and landed on his wall instead. Cursing, muttering under his breath “stupid dog didn’t let me win the stupid game”, he collapsing exhausted to the floor. The shock of the bullet actually coming out was a lot, combined with the torpor from the alcohol in his blood, it was more than his body could take right now. He instantly fell asleep, and mumbled “good dog, good dog” for a while between weak snores. 

Sumo would curl up with him for the remainder of the night, never leaving the side of his damaged human.


End file.
